| Anusha Mysooru | April 2025 | Flash Fiction |
Amidst the sea of people meandering through this street, a middle-aged man and woman pass the bookstore window. He is holding her hands, leading her. The woman pauses in front of the display, staring sideways at the image of a woman driving a red car on a book cover. The man, without turning, senses the pause in her stride. He tugs at her. They walk in tandem till the corner before the April showers catch them by surprise. When they rush back to the bookstore, they take shelter under the awning of the window, standing close to the book display.
The woman draws her arms closer, shielding herself from the raindrops dripping from the edge of the awning. The man looks away, first at the sky and then at both sides of the street.
“I want to learn how to drive the car”, says the woman. Her folded arms are determined, eyes placid and she is staring at the pavement..
The man looks at her, startled at the words. There are flecks of grey in his curly hair, and the wire-rimmed glasses make him look older. His forehead is creased, and he chuckles.
“Sure, why not? But I don’t have the time to teach you!”
The woman appears mildly irritated. “There are plenty of driving schools in the city, you know. They can teach me how to drive.”
On cue, a driving school car passes by; a woman is in the driving seat. The man points at the vehicle as it splashes water from a puddle onto the pavement.
“Just look at her. Women can’t drive!”
“Oh please, don’t be ridiculous.”
“And a driving school? Forget it! I won’t pay an idiot to teach you how to put a dent in my car!”
The woman is exasperated— “It is my car too.”
A vendor selling bubble guns passes by, blowing happy, soapy bubbles their way. The bubbles burst from the summer raindrops, but some descend before disintegrating on the wet tarmac of the street.
“Where is this coming from? Why do you want to learn how to drive a car?”
The woman lets out a tired sigh and arranges her handbag on her shoulder, contemplating her next words.
“Anjana learnt how to drive from a driving school. She was left with the car after the divorce but didn’t know how to drive. Look at her now; Anjana drives everywhere on her own.”
The man’s response is lightning-fast. “So, you want a divorce like your sister?”
His nostrils are flared and eyes flinty. Anger ebbs on the woman’s face as she purses her lips, swallowing the words that threaten to leap out of her throat in a scream. She composes herself before speaking.
“I. Did. Not. Say. That.”
A passing auto driver halts momentarily before the man shoos him away. The woman turns towards the book display; her eyes are red, and she blinks to fight the tears, willing them to disappear.
“Why do you want to drive? Don’t I take you out enough?”
“I don’t want to depend on you for everything.”
“Fine. Go ahead. Join a driving school and learn to drive. But I will not let you drive my car.”
“That’s preposterous—”
“You would never manage to drive a sedan. You should buy a new car. An automatic!”
The woman is visibly agitated. “I don’t have a job. Let’s assume I managed to buy a car. Where would I park it, huh?”
“It’ll be your car, park it wherever you want!”
“Our apartment has parking space for only one car.”
“Park it on the road!”
“…and find that it’s been towed away in the morning?”
“That might happen—”
“Why should I park on the road? You park outside!”
“I will park my car in my house!”
The man utters these words aloud and regrets it immediately. The woman closes her eyes with measured intent, pausing for effect before launching into a tirade.
“Sure, your house! Of course. Who makes sure everyone is out on time every day – to the office, to school, lunch boxes packed? Who does the laundry, folds it and puts it away? I am your wife, not an elf!”
The rain suddenly intensifies, an untimely downpour for this season. The man and woman quiet down. A younger couple passes them, huddled close under a scarlet umbrella. They are giggling in the rain, as only the young can. The raindrops further soak the pavement.
“You have taken me for granted.”
“I thought we were happy.”
“Did you ask me if I was happy?”
“Don’t be absurd. You have everything one could need.”
“No. I don’t have everything. For a start, I just wanted to learn how to drive a car.”
“I know what will happen. One fine morning, I’ll wake up and find that you’ve packed your bags and driven away in my car.”
“You’re twisting my words—”
“Fine. Go ahead. Take the car!”
Beads of sweat are forming on the woman’s upper lip. The man’s face has reddened, and spit has collected at the corners of his mouth. He takes his car keys out and hands them to the woman.
“Here. Take these.”
“I don’t want this!”
“You were the one who said you wanted to drive the car—”
“All I wanted was to learn how to drive a car. And I don’t want to do it if you don’t want me to do it.”
A dishevelled girl selling roses comes towards the man, appealing him to buy one for the woman. The raindrops have settled between the petals of the roses. He curtly waves the girl away. The woman waits in silence and returns the car keys to the man. He stares speechlessly as she fishes out a flowery umbrella from her handbag, unfurls it and walks out in the rain.
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Anusha Mysooru has put down roots in Bengaluru but grew up in Mysuru. She is a planner at heart and a reticent writer on a quest to find the elusive cat in the shimmer. Her stories have appeared in Pena Literary magazine, The Aleph Review, Out of Print blog and elsewhere. She despises doing laundry, enjoys her black coffee, and is indifferent about heaven or hell as long as the afterlife has a library.
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Feature image by Abhishek Khatri via Unsplash
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